David Wishart - Illegally Dead

I let that one pass for the moment. ‘Okay. So why the story? You’d been attacked, badly wounded, you’d defended yourself and accidentally killed the attacker in the process. You’re a lawyer, you’d know you were within your rights. So why try to cover things up?’

He smiled weakly. ‘It was because I’m a lawyer, Corvinus. Or partly so. I told you, the combination of ordinary man and lawyer can give rise to acts of unbelievable stupidity. Thus far I’d acted as a man. I was frightened, I panicked, I overreacted.’ He paused. ‘No, I’m being unfair to myself, I didn’t overreact, I simply fought as hard as I could to avoid being killed, which I knew I would be if I gave the woman the smallest degree of quarter. Once she was dead, unfortunately, the thinking lawyer took over. I’ve argued cases, Corvinus, for the defence and prosecution both, all my life. I know all about circumstantial evidence, and how damning it can be, how difficult it is to get round. She was the second person I’d killed by “accident”’ — he stressed the word — ‘under identical circumstances inside half a month. Suspicious? Of course it is! Besides, she was a woman, I’m a strong man; why could I not simply have disarmed her? And strangulation? A fatal knife wound could be sudden and truly accidental; but strangulation is slow, and therefore deliberate. Oh, yes: I could make a case myself, a very good one at that.’ I said nothing. ‘So the upshot was that the lawyer made his points and the man accepted and acted on them. Stupidly, as I say, criminally so. I hid the body as best I could — yes, I suppose I did know it was Bucca Maecilius’s yard, but it was the handiest place at the time and I was almost out of my mind with pain and fear — and…well, the rest you know. Or I assume you do. When I talked to you the next day, of course, it was as a lawyer trying to make the most of a bad job, a nightmare situation. I’m sorry about Bucca, very sorry: I will, naturally, go straight round to Libanius, explain the whole business and take the consequences.’

‘The bruise on your hand,’ I said. ‘You made that deliberately? After you’d killed her?’

Another weak smile. ‘No. I’m not that devious, I’m glad to say. I must’ve grazed my knuckles against the wall in the struggle, although I didn’t notice it at the time. But yes, you’re right, I did turn it to use later.’

‘But you did recognise the woman?’

He looked at me blankly. ‘What? No. No, of course I didn’t! Why should I?’

‘Come on, pal! She was a relative of the guy you killed, the guy who attacked you and your partner. Senecio.’

‘No, Corvinus, I’m sorry, but — ’ He frowned. ‘Hold on. Senecio…Senecio…’

‘You defended him, you and Hostilius. Him and his brother Lupus, on a burglary and murder charge.’

‘Wait. I — ’ He was still frowning. ‘The Brabbius brothers. Yes, by god, you’re right. It must’ve been over fifteen years ago, in Bovillae, before we moved here. We lost the case, Lupus was executed and Senecio went to the galleys. The man was Brabbius Senecio?’

‘Yeah. At least, I think so. And it was twenty-one years ago.’

‘So it was.’ He was staring at me. ‘Why should Brabbius Senecio want to attack us? Yes, we lost and his brother died, but we did our best, it wasn’t our fault. And I realise I shouldn’t be saying this, but we never had a chance from the start because they were obviously guilty. You say the dead woman was a relative?’

‘Yeah. My guess would be a wife or a sister. He have either of these, that you know of? Or anything like them?’

He shook his head numbly. ‘No. I’ve genuinely no idea. Oh, I remember Senecio, yes, of course I do, although I’d never have recognised him in the man who attacked us even if I’d known who it was, certainly never made any sort of connection. But apart from Lupus I never met any of his family, to my knowledge. If they did exist then they kept well clear.’

I stood up. So did Clarus. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Thanks, pal. Very informative.’

His lips pursed. ‘Yes…well. I’m sorry about all this, Valerius Corvinus. Sorry and deeply ashamed. As I said, I will see Quintus Libanius and make a full confession at the earliest opportunity. My apologies to your father, too, Clarus. I’ll see you out.’

He did. No sign of Seia Lucinda now, but no doubt she’d be having a talk with her husband after we’d gone.

‘You believe him, Corvinus?’ Clarus said as the door closed behind us and we went down the steps.

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Jury’s out on that completely.’ He’d handled it well, though, I had to give him that. If he was lying, somewhere along the way, it’d be hellish difficult to prove. ‘All we can do now is dig and see what turns up.’

One thing was certain: if I was going to get any more answers I’d have to do my digging in Bovillae.

I went back home and packed a bag. I’d got my appointment with Publius Novius the next day, and if I was going through to Bovillae now, with the likelihood of spending quite some time there tracking down someone who’d known the Brabbii, it’d be silly to shuttle back and forth to Castrimoenium. Agilleius Mundus would put me up for the asking, I was sure of that. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to sleep with the snoring coachman.

I said goodbye to Perilla — she’d got her own job in the meantime, setting up a woman-to-woman confab with the elusive Renia re Meton — and headed off.

Mundus’s was one of the older houses off the main square, a big rambling place you could get lost in. The old guy was out, but his equally decrepit major-domo assured me that there’d be no problem about staying. I stabled the mare, dumped my stuff in a guest bedroom overlooking the garden, checked on dinner times — having Meton in your household gets you twitchy about turning up punctually for meals — and set off for the dyers’ and fullers’ part of town, up by the Appian Gate. A handy locale, anyway: I’d give lunch a miss, especially if it meant eating with the slaughterhouse brigade filling the place, but no doubt a cup or two of wine at Veturinus’s would go down nicely in the run-up to dinner.

Okay. So off we went.

I was about a dozen yards from the front door when the back of my neck started prickling. I turned round quickly, but apart from a harassed young mum dragging a squalling kid along the pavement and a couple of bored slaves kicking their heels against the wall of a draper’s shop while they waited for the mistress to finish off her business inside and load them up for the trip home there was nothing to see. Certainly no familiar faces, and any self-respecting mugger with designs on my purse would have more sense than to try it on in broad daylight, especially in the middle of a law-abiding town like Bovillae. I shrugged and grinned. False alarm. Yeah, well: maybe I was just getting needlessly jumpy in my old age.

I’d got to the tenth dyer’s establishment, and got my tenth unequivocal and not-very-friendly brush-off, before I accepted the fact that this was going to be a real bummer of a job. Bugger! I should’ve used Alexis, even though he was still punch-drunk after his marathon with the spiders. It wasn’t just the lapse of time involved — twenty-one years, for a lot of the people I talked to, would be three-quarters of a lifetime — it was the purple stripe: like I say, the dyers are a clannish profession, they stick together and they don’t like strangers shoving their noses in, whatever the reason. Especially purple-striped Romans, who’ve always been about as popular generally in Latium as a cold in the head. I got the impression that quite a few of the older guys and guyesses — and some of them must’ve been tramping mantles when Tiberius was in rompers — could’ve helped if they’d wanted to, but one look at the stripe and an earful of the accent and their lips were zipped.